


let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

by anacel



Series: To Everything There is a Season [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacel/pseuds/anacel
Summary: In some ways, she gives up Bernie for Marjorie, a familial duty that keeps her feet rooted in Holby.Perhaps it's her curse to stay when everyone else leaves.





	let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

**Author's Note:**

> A post-episode (Everything Old is New Again) drabble that spun into a giant wishlist for Serena and Bernie. My take on Serena's inner-workings and the often fragmented journey people take to recover from trauma. 
> 
> Thank you muchly to Reg for making this one feel extra special. We love our disaster girls.
> 
> Title from "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver.

Serena inhales sharply.

One moment she's driving home and the next she’s pulling over to the side of the road.

Serena sucks in gasps of hot, stuffy air but there’s not enough of it.

She grapples with unlatching the seat belt, before acid rises in her throat, sour and burning. She jerks the car door open and heaves out bile and what little food she has left in her stomach.

The tightness in her chest doesn't surprise her. She felt it clawing its way up all morning, intending to have this episode in the privacy of her own home, away from the prying eyes of her neighbours. Not that it has ever adhered to her schedule or respected her wishes.

_Bloody panic attacks._

Serena sits stock still, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing for the nauseating feeling to subside — it doesn't. Everything aches. Every muscle. Every memory she's compartmentalized since returning to Holby.

And like the petrification of a beautiful forest, Serena feels as though she's turning into stone in places where she was once richly bursting with life.

She reaches for the necklace around her neck like a talisman, but it isn’t there, in her haste to return to the hospital she had forgotten it. Serena feels a bit untethered, like the ugly, unwanted parts of herself have been let loose by its absences around her neck. Since her return to Holby, it seemed like the only way she could survive was to fence herself outside the grief of her daughter's death. Afraid of the mallet of truths that might hit her if she opened herself up to it again. That in a moment of weakness, she might give in to her despair, and simply give up.

_Pull yourself together, Campbell!_

Serena bites down on her bottom lip, enough to taste the iron in her mouth.

Her head is swimming with too many voices, conjuring up snippets of Elinor and Bernie and her mother too. And her mind taunts her with half-formed scenarios of what might have gone wrong if she hadn't operated on Greta.

She vaguely remembers her therapist walking her through a few exercises, and the kind Nepalese women who had helped her along the way. Serena takes in a slow, shallow breath, and then a deeper one, exhaling through her mouth. She recalls a happy memory to help her concentrate.

_“Hello? Auntie Serena — yes, we’re doing well. Except for Guinevere who’s being very difficult to put to sleep. We’ve tried everything, Auntie Serena. Might you be able to sing her favourite song?”_

_“Oh, of course, Jason. Have you got me on speaker? Alright then, ahem…_

_Five little ducks went swimming one day. Over the hills and far away… Mother Duck said, ‘Quack Quack Quack Quack!’ But only four little ducks came back!”_

_“It's working, Auntie Serena — keep going…”_

Three... Two... One...

Exhale.

Serena's left with a hollow pit in her stomach, and a phantom weight pressing against her chest. But her panic recedes. She rolls down the driver side window to take in a lungful of brisk winter air. Takes stock of her surroundings: the bare trees covered in frost, the early morning sunlight catching chimneys billowing, and the sound of the world waking.

She thinks of Jason and Guinevere and Greta — of the family she does have and it's enough, for now, to frame Jason's well-being above her own. She musters whatever energy she has left, humming the rest of the nursery rhyme as she shifts the car back into gear.

The rest of the drive to Serena's house is a blur. It takes nearly all her willpower to keep going like she's fighting against a sinister enemy hell-bent on leaching at her very core.

A resounding flood of relief hits her as she arrives home, a barrier between herself and the outside world. She lets herself inside and leans back heavily against the door, shoes off and jacket unceremoniously thrown on the floor. Serena drags herself mercilessly up a flight of stairs into the en suite bathroom, peeling off layers of clothing like a second skin.

She steps into the shower and turns up the hot water. Not hot, scalding. It feels like tiny pinpricks lashing at her back, and she falls to the floor in a heap of sheer exhaustion. The tears come leaking down her cheeks into hot streaks, mingling and disappearing with the water, as if they were never there, to begin with.

If there was one singularity in her life it was the prevailing sadness that seems to creep up in every dark, depressing corner of her existence. Serena's often wondered if healing is possible when every year is marked by loss. Her heart has retracted so far and so deep inside the upper left cavity of her chest, she knows it will require a slow, tedious effort to excavate later.

She survived Edward and his philandering no worse for wear, but she mourns for the pillar of women in her life. She doesn't know how to cope, to bear the weight of all the McKinnie women before her. In some ways, she gives up Bernie for Marjorie, a familial duty that keeps her feet rooted in Holby. Perhaps it's her curse to stay when everyone else leaves.

She wants to be better, to circle back to life when laughter came easiest, and when care for herself wasn’t between parentheses. She wants to feel as though happiness wasn’t such an unattainable luxury for people like her.

Time trickles on, she doesn't know how long, but her fingers have begun to prune and her skin a splotch of bright pink. Serena turns the tap off, reaches for a towel as the sudden change in temperature makes her shiver.

“Serena?” Someone calls out, followed by a knock on the ensuite door, jolting Serena out of her foggy haze. “Don't be alarmed — it’s just me. Your front door was open.”

“Bernie?” Her muddled brain supplies.

“You okay in there?”

“Be out in a second,” Serena croaks out, wipes furiously at her eyes, before sliding the shower pane open.

Serena is confronted with a mire of emotions, a dull ache in her heart threatening to crack open and expose her carefully cultivated image. For someone so unassuming, Bernie made a habit of grand and surprise entrances, and it didn't always sit well with her. Everything is too close to the surface for it to be anything but agonizing. But perhaps this is was one of the very reasons Bernie made an impression on her, the woman was never afraid to challenge - to push, or illuminate upon her strongly held beliefs.

Serena catches herself in the mirror, with rosy cheeks and panda-like eyes. She takes a makeup wipe to scrub her face clean and rinses her mouth quickly. The appeal of hiding in the loo forever has crossed her mind, but Bernie might come looking and then they'd both be in here. She squares her shoulders and secures a robe around herself. Serena hovers behind the door momentarily, and as if sensing her discomfort Bernie moves away to stand by the window.

Serena feels strangely embarrassed and fragile, not quite able to meet Bernie's eyes just yet, choosing instead to sit on the opposite side of the bed trying desperately to reign in her emotions.

Bernie is still bundled up in her coat and scarf, casting a long shadow where she stands, and an uncertain look about her face like a stranger who stepped into her home.

And yet Bernie is everywhere in this room — in the bedsheets she hasn't washed, in the empty drawers, in forgotten toiletries, on surfaces where they’ve made love. There is a vividness to their relationship now that it's over. Memories of picture-perfect pockets of comfort and normalcy, so rare in a relationship like theirs, but all the more treasured.

Her home has traitorously and indelibly retained the feel of Bernie.

“I - uh, should let you change - I'm sorry.” Bernie stammers apologetically. She takes a step towards the door and gets as far as hovering over the doorknob before she hesitates.

Serena clears her throat, “I thought you left the country?”

Bernie turns around to face Serena with a solemn expression on her face.

“Locuming for the time being,” Bernie offers to share. “I tried to ring this time. It wasn’t my intention to ambush you in your own home or the ward I -” Bernie stops, fidgets with her hands as she does.

“My battery died.” Serena lies outright to rescue Bernie from saying more. “I haven't had a moment to check.” Lies because she was paralyzed to pick up the phone. To start with, Bernie never calls. And if she did call, Serena knew she wouldn’t be able to disguise the nakedness — the grief, in her voice.

“Right, of course.”

“Have you forgotten to pack something? I think you missed a few of your—”

“No - I promised Jason I'd pop in to check, you had him worried,” Bernie replies, voice laden with concern.

It shouldn't surprise her that Jason would call Bernie, that she's here on one of toughest days of her professional career since Elinor's death. Jason always had that effect on them. All their children do. Serena wonders if she got it all wrong, made assumptions about Bernie's commitments. The realization hits her a tad late. She's made a ruddy mess of everything and fears she's already exhausted all of Bernie's goodwill.

“I'm fine.” Serena dismisses far too quickly, “he needn't worry.”

Bernie gives her a pointed look, not at all convinced.

“Bollocks.”

“What?” Serena says defensively.

“You haven't slept in two days, and you just performed a complicated surgery on a family member. Are you sure you're alright?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well, you're doing a damn good job of telling me you are, but you're not fooling me,” Bernie says matter-of-factly. Gone is the stammering and second-guessing, Bernie stands tall before her, with a bold sense of purpose. Serena knows she's being lead into a conversation.

“Bernie, as lovely as this is — I’m fine, nothing a proper night sleep won't sort out.” Serena tries to reassure. “It's Jason that needs whatever it is you’re offering.”

“Why is it so hard for you to ask for help?”

“It isn’t that simple!”

Serena’s chin wobbles - hates that Bernie’s simple question has the effect of drawing her into a petty, capricious burst of protest. It cuts open all her long-held childhood traumas, insecurities that were stitched back together by her own hands.

“Why not?” Bernie prods her gently.

Serena's eyes turn downcast, afraid her resolve will crumble at any moment.

If Serena thought they could sweep this under the rug, and Bernie would be on her way none the wiser, she was fooling herself. Very few things could get past Bernie, least of all her loosely held composure and veneer of confidence.

Bernie is in Serena’s sphere in two steps, kneeling in between her legs, making and claiming space for herself. Bernie's hands hesitate around her shoulder before they drop on the duvet, palms down, bracketing Serena within her.

It would feel suffocating for many people, but Serena knows there is a bigger storm inside her, and they have weathered many of them together. Bernie is unflinching when she wants to be, the only woman whose ever stood at the centre of it all and didn't cower at her intensity.

And it's with that piece of clarity that Serena is wracked with unintelligible sobs, swept away by the emotional and physical toll of the last few days.

Bernie doesn't stop her with fake platitudes, she just waits as she always does.

Waits until Serena is ready to let her in.

Serena pries her trembling hands away from her face to lock eyes with Bernie. She is met with gentleness and hands held out like a lifeline. Serena’s already asked for far too many of those. She takes it anyway, clings so very dearly to Bernie.

They're inches apart now. So close Serena can count the freckles on Bernie's face, and she’s still the most beautiful woman she's ever known. But there is evidence that Bernie hasn't been well either: the dark circles around her eyes, the pronounced lines, and unkempt hair lacking their usual tousled appearance. Sleepless nights must be plaguing them both.

“I don't want to be a burden,” Serena says meekly, a lump in her throat. “Least of all yours, not after — not after everything that's happened.”

“You’re not a chore, Serena…” Bernie says softly, without missing a beat. “You matter to me. Whatever it is we are, you're still my friend.”

There's something in the way Bernie says 'friend’ that pinches and twist in Serena's chest. Are they even that?

“Have we - have we been good friends?”

Bernie sighs pulls back a little to hunch against her heel. “No, I suppose we haven't been.” It’s Serena’s turn to grip Bernie’s hand to centre her balance.

Serena can see the interplay of emotions running through Bernie's head. She knows this face almost as well as she knows her own. It does not need saying that Bernie will stay if she asks. _If_  she asks.

“I don't know what we are. But I can’t hope that you’ll be here tomorrow or the next day. I can’t ask you to stop doing what you love best or pluck you out of the sky. And I can’t keep asking you to wait for me forever, because I might never be ready to leave.”

“You let me go, Serena. Not the other way around.” Bernie is braver for having said it. She shoots a piercing glance at Serena, with tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. The hurt is there — the love, always. Serena braces herself, for what’s to come next. “But I’ll go if that’s what you really want.”

Bernie bows her head resignedly.

They’re both openly crying now.

Bernie is _here_. Being far too noble and understanding she doesn’t think she’s deserving of it even now.

Bernie brings their clasped hands together and kisses Serena’s knuckles in a promise. Serena nearly jolts her hands away — so touch starve for affection, but Bernie is stronger and her well ran deeper, with enough compassion and forgiveness to fill them both.

Serena was so very tired. From the depths of her exhaustion, where she no longer had the strength to turn Bernie away, she is pulled by the gravity of Bernie’s orbit into a crushing hug. Serena sobs into her neck. “I - I’ve missed you so much - and…”

“I know, love. I know.” Bernie muffles into Serena’s hair. “I’ve got you.” Bernie squeezes Serena into her like she’s holding the whole world in her arms.

Bernie loves her to the very marrow of her bones, from all her follies and foibles to her wildest hopes and dreams. And with each internal battle, she gives Bernie parts of herself that can’t be taken back. If only she had been as understanding about Bernie’s failings and misgivings, maybe then they’d be on the other side of this chasm.

“I never wanted you to go.”

Bernie pulls back a little to frame Serena’s face between her hands. “You are the most selfless, and downright maddening woman I've ever known, Serena Campbell.”

Serena is equal parts laughing and sniffling.

“I love you.” She’s able to say at last.

The heaviness in Serena’s eyes has lifted somewhat that she can grace Bernie with a shy, enigmatic smile. She must look like a sight, all cried out and hair ruffled in dampness. But she feels a good deal better, lighter even.

Serena reaches for tendrils of Bernie’s fringe to tuck behind her ear, and bestow a gentle kiss on Bernie's forehead.

Bernie closes her eyes briefly, “I love you too, Serena. And I want us to be good for each other.”

Serena shuts her eyes too and leans her forehead against Bernie. Serena realizes that in order for them to truly move forward it would never just be a case of exchanging empty apologies, it would be a matter of sweating stone, only then could they retain their meaning.

Bernie’s knees creak as she gets off the floor to sit beside Serena, one arm coming around Serena to pull her flush against Bernie's side.

“Jason didn’t understand it, you know, why I had to let you go.” Serena takes a breathe, feeling ready to open up. “Why you had to leave again… And then I had to be honest with him about Dr. Faulkner and the kind of life you’d give up. And I thought there was nothing worse than the hurt I’ve cost you, but that Jason had to lose you as well. I'm sorry, Bernie. God, I feel like a fool.”

“Hey - I get it,” Bernie reassures. “I do. I'm not saying that I'm not hurt, that there aren’t difficult conversations ahead, but it's not insurmountable. We make a bloody great team you and I.”

“We do at that.”

“And Jason hasn’t lost me.” Bernie vows, “I will always be his Auntie Bernie, whether we’re together or not.”

“Where do we even start? I’ve done so poorly by you.”

“And I could have been more accessible.” Bernie is quick to admit. ”I want it all with you, Serena. Not just when it’s easy.”

“What about the NTC?” Serena asks, still a little hazy on the details of Bernie’s departure from the trauma centre. “All the wonderful, life-changing work you’re doing over there.”

“After I handed in my resignation the deal was done, not every hospital would be so keen to revoke it. Unfortunate as that may be, it was my own doing. I wasn't exactly exhibiting ‘leadership material’ as they say.”

“It was rather rash,” Serena pokes playfully at Bernie's chest. “At the very least you could have worked your two weeks notice.”

“At which? Holby or Nairobi?” Bernie plays along, takes a jab at herself in jest. “I am leaving the Centre in good hands, you know. My colleagues at the Centre are capable, talented Kenyans. I've learned just as much as I've taught. And I know how very privileged I am to be able to do the work that I do.”

“Right, so that’s it, no high-octane medicine, no chasing the next big thrill?”

“Is it so hard to believe I'd want a quiet life with you?”

“You said it to Fletch it was your dream job.”

“There will be other opportunities for me. I'm not exactly drowning in offers but there are offers.”

“You'd trade all that for Holby? You’d be scaling back if you took a job closer to home.” Serena points out the obvious.

“I found all the reasons why I liked Holby with you.” Bernie remains persistent, patiently offering up her well thought out answers. “I've got a family here I wouldn't mind coming home to. I get to see you fairly regularly — we could go on dates!”

Bernie's excitement is infectious, it momentarily pulls Serena out of overthinking and sabotaging her own happiness. Enough to draw a hopeful smile.

“Excitement isn't exactly one of Holby's big selling points.”

Bernie rolls her eyes, “Would you believe me, if I got a giant neon sign made saying: ‘Serena Campbell: Holby's Biggest Attraction.’

Serena balks at that. _Ridiculous woman._

“There’s more to the job than chasing excitement, you know.” Bernie parrots the words back to her, a barely-there smirk threatening to overtake her face.

Serena shares a look with Bernie, one very similar to an exasperated parent whose given up on wrangling their overly interfering son.

“Spying on me, are you?” Serena’s voice drips with affectionate sarcasm, feels a bit like they’ve been set-up. “Resorting to such elaborate tactics — ah, was my nephew in on it as well?”

“I wish I were that clever but no. Cam weaselled out of coffee to grab shifts on AAU. And my own lovely, conniving daughter was about to boot me out of the car if I didn’t make a case for myself. While the car was moving, mind you.”

“Does mildly threatening run in your family?” Serena asks, amused by Charlotte’s methods. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”

“Lottie’s got a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, I wouldn’t cross her.”

“And what’s her verdict then?”

”Apart from calling us both silly cows? That we’d be foolish not to grab this bit of joy and happiness after everything that’s happened, and spend the rest of our sodding lives making up instead of regretting the time we could have had… I think she might be onto something.”

A piece of sound advice from the youngest Wolfe, far beyond her years. Serena’s always liked Charlotte, could see the confident young woman she was becoming from the first time they met. And remembers clearly that Charlotte placed great value in truth and honesty, which is why she took Bernie’s affair the hardest. Serena is heartened by Charlotte’s approval and she doesn’t take that privilege lightly.

“I can see why she’d make a fine lawyer one day.”

“She’s right, you know,” Bernie says, wetting her lips and taking a long pause to formulate her next words. “I can't help but wonder why you gave up on us. The thing is Serena, you never give up… All that unflinching loyalty and relentless endurance. Even when it got tough, I thought we'd see it through. I never wanted you to give up your family for me. I wanted to be your family, was I ever worthy of that?” Bernie's voice cracks, the last two syllable caught in her throat.

The vulnerability Bernie displays breaks down the very last of Serena's barriers. A million different responses fill her mouth, but none come out. All the words Serena can think of pale in comparison to the loud hammering in her chest, and the deliriously joyous feeling that there is still hope for them. Still, more days to come, and a chance to get it right. To repair what's been broken. To atone for causing Bernie pain. She couldn’t find the words to tell Bernie all of that she wishes she could say, so she resolves to show her in every way she knows how.

“Of course you are, Bernie — you’re my home.”

The first thing she feels is chapped lips pressing against her own tasting of coffee and mint. Serena nearly doubles with the force of her fervour — revelling in tangling her fingers through Bernie’s hair. Serena reaches in front to unknot Bernie's scarf, eager to place hungry kisses on Bernie's neck, while Bernie divests herself from her jacket.

Serena’s back hits the bed before she realizes it. And Bernie’s peeling aside her robe to trail kisses down her sternum, and she nearly cries at how gentle the touch is, stitching her broken little heart close.

She drags Bernie above her, searching for another searing kiss.

Another welcome home.

They’re interrupted by a crackle in the baby monitor before Serena could continue the careful exploration of Bernie’s mouth. Serena jerks her head up in confusion.

“Guinevere?”

Bernie snorts, rolls off Serena to fumble with the monitor by the bedside table. Guinevere’s wails heighten in intensity.

“I put her down in her cot when I came to look for you,” Bernie offers up a handy explanation, still sporting a lazy, lovesick expression from their kisses. “I should have said. Jason thought she’d settle here, while he watches over Greta.”

“Right. Okay - she needs to feed.” Serena is quick to surmise, heaving herself out of bed and frantically looking for a change of clothes. “There’s breast milk in the fridge - do you mind fetching her, please?”

Bernie nods. Makes her way towards the converted baby room down the hall.

Serena keeps a watchful eye over the monitor as she changes, hears Bernie’s voice lower to coo affectionately at her grandniece, “Hush now, Guinevere. It’s alright, Auntie Bernie’s here.”

Serena hangs back at an alcove in the dining room, and spots Bernie eyeing the electric bottle warmer warily, Guinevere nestled close to her chest.

Guinevere makes a feeble, impatient whimper.

“You’re a hungry little bugger aren’t you.”

Guinevere responds with unintelligible gurgles, turning fussy in Bernie's arms.

Bernie bounces Guinevere as she means to comfort her. “Serena will be down in a second, sweetheart. Promise.”

“The greatest trauma surgeon this country has to offer and you've fallen stump on a bottle warmer, charming.” Serena chimes in from behind them, a smirk playing on her lips.

“We boiled water back in my day!” Serena presses the big button on the front, and a red light flashes indicating that it's on. Bernie sticks her tongue out. “I knew that.”

“‘Course you did, darling.”

Serena holds out her arms for Guinevere, and Bernie reluctantly lets her go.

Guinevere is pawing at Serena’s soft knit jumper by the time the warmer beeps. Bernie is quick to tests the milk on her wrist before handing the bottle over to Serena. Serena’s eyes are filled with tenderness as she cradles Guinevere, who suckles eagerly at her bottle. Bernie leans against the island counter, charmed by the sacred little ritual between auntie and niece.

“Thank you for taking Guinevere with you. God knows they’ll be needing all the help while Greta recovers.” Serena sighs, feels it all crashing back — the anxiety and the hours of surgery.

“I can hear you fretting from over here.” Bernie interrupts Serena’s silent agonizing. “We’ll sort it out.”

Serena believes her.

Believes in them.

“Bins, swings, and all?”

“That and more, my love.”

“Well, move over Nigella Lawson, there's a new domestic goddess in town.”

There is an inexplicable awareness between Bernie and Serena, that maybe the truth lies in the mundane — in the every day, not the grandiose declarations of love, just two people anchoring each other and carrying on.

“I hear you promised Cam a spot up in Darwin?” Bernie asks, breaking Serena out of her reverie.

“Sort of?” Serena says shyly. Had she overstepped? She thought she was being far too magnanimous but was too tired to take it back.

“Nepotism isn’t exactly your style.”

“It isn’t. But your son has a habit of asking questions I’d rather not answer. I thought I’d give him something else to chew on.”

“He’s always been determined.” Bernie shakes her head but is quick to rectify. “Determined to be a pain in the arse, but let’s hope he smartens up.”

“God save us all from Jac Naylor's wrath, Berenice. Because I’ve exhausted all my favours.”

“If you recall I didn’t last very long on Darwin either.”

“Like mother, like son?”

Bernie huffs. Serena knows some of that posturing is Marcus’ doing too. Bernie habitually puts her own absent parenting down as cause, but she's been around enough men in her life to know male entitlement doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“It’s not me he needs to impress.”

“Impressing Jac Naylor? Don't count your chickens yet. I suppose it’s too late to convert Charlotte to the family business?”

“She’s too busy being brilliant on her own.” Bernie is proud to mention. “Besides, my sister’s already claimed Charlotte as her successor.”

The conversation flows freely between them, slipping easily into their roles as friends. A once mutual desire to relate to someone their own age who had gone through similar hurdles in their career and motherhood. Serena knows that their friendship has always been the foundation and it’s where they will rebuild again.

Serena yawns, blinking back tired eyes, readjusting Guinevere in her arms. “Sorry…”

“Once Guinevere’s sorted, I think it’s time we tuck you into bed as well, Ms. Campbell.”

A sculpted eyebrow rises. Serena covers part of Guinevere’s ears playfully. “Ms. Wolfe, that’s very forward of you.” Serena flirts, for the first time, it feels like she can.

Bernie shakes her head, a slight blush blooming her cheeks. “You’ll be scarring that one before she even walks.”

“It builds character. Maybe later though?” Serena winks and Bernie is helpless to fight the grin taking over her face.

Serena is aware they’re much too tired and wrung out to do more than fall into bed. But it’s enough, more than enough, to feel the clawing loneliness retreat back, and take pleasure in these quiet moments.

Serena rises smoothly as Guinevere finishes her bottle. “Can you pass me that muslin, she gets rather uncomfortable after—” Guinevere passes gas before Serena can finish her sentence.

Bernie's face transforms into a picture of delight, eyes crinkling at the corner, and a great, big honking laugh overtakes her body. Guinevere eyes widen at the sound, and a toothless little grin beams back at Bernie.

Serena's body shakes with fits of laughter too, nose wrinkling at Guinevere. Serena is reminded of her Guinevere’s namesake, of her own daughter’s penchant for being the centre of attention. How wonderful to think of Elinor's spirit this way.

“Here - you take her,” Serena says, handing off Guinevere to Bernie once more.

Bernie takes it all in stride, she has Serena support Guinevere’s head while Bernie situates Gwen over her shoulder, and a muslin to catch any milk. She rubs soothing circles on Guinevere’s back, swaying gently on the spot until she feels a burp pass without any bother.

After everything Bernie has her nose buried at the crook of Guinevere’s impossibly soft neck, filling the kitchen with fits of happy gurgles. Bernie rocks and spins the smallest member of their makeshift family. And like her Auntie Serena, Guinevere goes for a handful of Bernie’s cornsilk hair to tug at playfully. Serena’s heart swells at that: Bernie with a content, imperceptible smile, daring her to hope that life could be this simple and easy.

One of Bernie’s hands reaches for her and she’s tucked securely under Bernie’s chin. This tiny pocket universe with her two favourite people.

Life did not dole out neat answers. Elinor’s death will always ache, and the colours may not always be as bright, but healing, she’s come to realize isn’t always about closure. It’s just moving forward in the very best way she knows how — fragmented, halting, and sometimes circling back.

Here they are standing on fertile ground with sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, bathing them in a dazzling dance of warmth and happiness. And Serena looks up at Bernie like a flower turning itself towards the sun in the hopes of opening up.

Love is a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm excited to see what other stories I might like to explore with them.  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803022) by [daisydoctor13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydoctor13/pseuds/daisydoctor13)




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